Hunt for the Hallowed Jhen
by AnAngryPervert
Summary: A man, a monster, and a quest for revenge.
1. Chapter 1

**Hunt for the Hallowed Jhen**

A puff of smoke floated lazily from the top of the man's pipe. The pipe, made from the hollowed-out horn of a kelbi, sat in the edge of his mouth, held in place by his age-yellowed teeth. His eyes, though they carried the weight of many a year, looked keenly around the tavern, glancing occasionally near the place's entrance whenever someone entered. He himself sat near the establishment's back, alone at a table few ever sat at.

A light gray cloak enshrouded his form from the neck down, only his arms and head visible. His arms themselves were clad in matching gauntlets, black as night and sleek as shadows. They were crossed on the table that he sat hunched over. A single tankard, long since emptied, was his only company. That suited him just fine.

Another white ball of smoke rose from his pipe, drifting past his hair of the same color and dissipated in the air above.

He leaned back in his chair, placing his pipe on the table, as sleep took him.

_A man with black hair and blazing eyes stood at the helm of his ship. It slid through a literal sea of sand, the silky and thin granules forming an ocean as far as one could see, illuminated by the pale moon that hung far above. The man, whose striking black armor contrasted the silvery moon sharply, turned and marched back down to the main body of the ship. Another man, younger and wearing simple steel armor, rushed to him, crimson hair blowing in the breeze._

"_See anything?" he questioned enthusiastically._

"_No. Not a single thing." the ebon-clad man replied. Disappointment showed prominently in his deep voice. "Not a damned tusk or tail of a Jhen Mohran."_

_The younger man placed his hand to his chin and rubbed his reddish stubble. He was obviously perplexed._

"_That can't be right." He began pacing back and forth, still thinking deeply. "Koby said that he sensed one out here. His predictions were always reliable…"_

"_Maybe the kid's not as good a foreteller as we thought he was." The man suggested._

"_I don't know about that, Neil." the younger one stated, stopping his pacing. "We even got a report from Makoto Takamisaki!"_

"_Makoto Takamisaki?" Neil laughed, "The crazy Delex fisherman? Half the time he's drunk, and the other half he's too hung over to think properly!"_

_Just as Neil finished his sentence, a low, rumbling cry rang through the Great Desert. Men began to emerge from the lower deck, perplexed by the mysterious sound. The two already there stood frozen in place, shocked._

"_Something's not right." Neil spoke through gritted teeth, "That doesn't sound like a Jhen should." His voice was mottled with uncertainty-fuelled fear._

_Another of the cries rang out. One of the men from the lower decks turned to the sound and screamed. _

_From the loose sand surrounding the hunting ship, a behemoth encrusted with purple crystals slid. Akin to a gigantic whale with two enormous, pointed pillars for tusks, the gems on its back shimmered in the cold moonlight. In one speeding motion, the monster dove from the sand at the ship, mouth open, shrieking as if possessed._

_Neil, shaken from his fear by concern for the lives of his men, sprinted to the other side of the ship and raised a tool similar to a blunt pickaxe above his head. Just as he was about to bring it down on the metallic drum that was connected to an ear-piercingly-loud gong, the thing struck first._

_The sound of wood snapping and cries of despair were drowned by the beast's shrill roar of victory. The ship was ripped in two as men from both sides were flung into the sand, unable to stop their sinking into the gritty depths._

_The thing plowed through the broken ship before sliding back below the surface. In less than a second, however, it had __**leaped**__ into the air, landing on top of and crushing one of the halves, killing all beneath it._

_Neil too was tossed into the sand, clinging desperately to a small piece of wood. He looked franticly about, searching desperately for any sign of surviving men. They stopped as he spied bright red hair. His friend had managed to hold to a piece of wood just as Neil had. _

_Just as Neil opened his mouth to call to him and check if he was okay, the sand beneath the red-head shuddered. The abomination had come to claim one more life. Neil screamed at his friend as hard and loud as he could._

"_**SHINJI!"**_

_It came again from the sand, mouth open, then slid below the surface a last time._

_And Shinji was no more._

The old man awoke with a start, panting and wheezing, knocking his pipe to the floor in a momentary panic.

His breathing came in shallow breaths as he clutched his chest with an ebon-clad hand.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hunt for the Hallowed Jhen**

"Is that him?"

Two men sat huddled at a table in the Hunter's Tavern, Port Tanzia's finest drinking establishment. Monster hunters could go there after a hunt to unwind, share drinks, celebrate victories, and find company for those lonely nights (if they were lucky). Both of the men spoke in hushed whispers. One, wearing spiked dark blue armor with bright green spots, looked over his shoulder, eyeing the back tables of the place, before looking back at his companion.

His friend, wearing gold armor that was decorated with circular bumps, locked eyes with him and replied with a low voice.

"Yeah. That's Neil, the crazy old guy. They say he used to be one of the best hunters around."

"That old guy? I don't think so, man. He looks like he hasn't gotten out of that chair in years. No way." The dark-armor clad hunter replied, peering at his friend from his helmet's eyeholes. The golden hunter scoffed.

"Alright, let me prove it to you. See his arm, the one that isn't in his cloak?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Those gauntlets he's wearing, my friend, those are Damascus gauntlets." He said, trying to keep his voice low so that the topic of their conversation wouldn't hear them. The man was old, but he apparently had ears like a person half his age. "That armor is almost **impossible** to make. Guess what the main components are!"

His friend thought for a moment, removing his helmet and taking a swig of his ale before speaking. "Uh, I'm guessing Black Diablos skin and Dragonite ore?"

"Jhen Mohran and Azure Rathalos scales for the main body, and Deviljho saliva. That stuff dissolves almost anything, and whatever isn't disintegrated turns black and gets **twice** as durable." He finished his own mug of ale with one swig, and gestured to a nearby waitress to get it refilled. "Not only that, you also need 2 commendations from the Guild to allow them to be made, one for each arm. They're that strong."

The darker hunter was flabbergasted. "Maybe he bought 'em?" His friend shook his head.

"Nope. Those things are only worn by hunter elite. They're a status symbol, even; I can't imagine someone just pawning them off." The girl returned with his drink, gave him a seductive smile, and walked off with her posterior shaking. She stopped and looked back at him, beckoning for him to follow. A grin spread across the gold-plated hunter's face, and he pushed his chair back to get up.

"If you don't believe me, ask him yourself." He raised his index finger at the girl waiting impatiently for him, showing he was just going to be with his friend a moment longer. She nodded, and he turned back to his friend. "Just watch yourself, he supposedly lost his mind years ago; rambling on and on about a 'Demon Jhen Mohran' that killed his crew, it's back covered in precious ore and rare crystals. He said the damn thing was purple." And with that, he waved at his friend, and turned to head over to the girl.

The dark-armored hunter watched his friend go, then turned to look at the old man again.

Their eyes met.

Neil watched as the younger man froze, then quickly dropped some zenny on the table to cover his tab and left in a hurry. As the hunter exited, he placed his pipe back into his mouth. He'd heard every word the two men had spoken, foolishly thinking that he couldn't hear them whispering. He stayed quiet, however, allowing their conversation to progress unimpeded.

He was used to it. A crazy old man was all any ever thought of him, now. He remembered returning to Port, almost catatonic with fear and babbling incoherently, occasionally managing to mumble out words like "Monster', "Mohran from Hell", and "Crystal of pure evil". Once he'd finally calmed down and could speak in a rational and proper fashion, he told his tale to the Guild officials who'd visited his home to check on him. Naturally, they were all dumbfounded, not a single one having heard of such a creature. A subspecies of Jhen Mohran? Preposterous, they said.

He'd tried to take revenge on the thing, spending more and more vast sums of money on professional crews, well-built ships, expeditions to find the thing, but none gave any results. A year passed, and still no sign of the thing was found whatsoever. He stayed determined, however. This continued for another year, and again no signs of the thing were found. It was at that point that things began to change, he noticed. His fellow hunters, who'd once looked up to and idolized him, were now glancing at him with worried and distrustful glances when they thought he wouldn't see. The long and thoughtful conversations he'd once shared with them now cut short by them, always making up one excuse or another to get away.

He heard their whispers as he passed, wondering amongst themselves whether he was all there or if he'd lost it. Even the port blacksmith, one of his closest companions, would give him odd looks. He paid all of this little mind, however, as he stayed set on his goal of finding the monster and avenging his lost crew. Determination, he noticed, didn't pay the fees for all of the ships and crews he'd hired in vain, he'd soon found. And as the years progressed, he eventually lost the money he'd earned from his legendary hunting exploits, and his goal was put beyond his reach.

At last, even the Guild refused to expend the money necessary for repeated journeys and thorough searches through the Great Desert with little to no gain. He'd even resorted to telling his tale to any that would listen, hoping desperately that someone –- **anyone**, would believe him and help him seek retribution. No such luck had befallen him. The only time he could ever find it was in his nightmares, every night, and even then it was just a repeat of their first encounter. The beast had finally taken everything he loved from him: His best friend, his crew, his money, and even his reputation. The thing didn't extend the courtesy to take his life, however, and that was what made him hate it more than anything.

He sighed and blew another ball of smoke from his pipe.


End file.
